


Well met by Moonlight

by Jezmatron



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora MIGHT be something else, F/F, F/M, Faeries - Freeform, Fantasy AU, Lets just say She Ra has BITE, Noble Bow, Vampires, Very low angst, Vikings, Weaver got her comeuppance, faerie Glimmer, vampire catra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezmatron/pseuds/Jezmatron
Summary: A shore. Vampires and Faeries.A distant war.A first meeting.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 83
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Something that came to me - a scene I had in my head for the longest time.

The horse's breath was visible in the chill of the night air, but the cold wasn’t noticeable. Her fur kept the heat in, along with the layered cloak she wore; also, her kind ran hot much of the time - a side effect of their _condition_.

It was silent out - no birdsong, or the rustle of animals in the underbrush. The only real sound was the lapping of waves at the water’s edge. The horses' hooves crunched on the pebbled shore as the animals jittered, restless. Idly, she pulled at the reigns to keep her mount steady as it tossed its head in boredom.

There was plenty of light - the moon wasn’t full but it was certainly approaching it, and the water was a silvered colour from the reflected light. Of course, she didn’t _need_ much light to see. Even in their base state, her kind were nocturnal predators. Their circumstances had only enhanced that. Her vision was hampered by the faint mist that lay out a fair bit above the water. But to either side the beach was clear, the forest at their back a well defined line of monochrome trees.

Her mother said her eyes marked her for greatness - they were always the first thing _anyone_ noticed. Eyes were, of course, important: windows to the soul. And hers - one honey-amber, the other ocean-blue, marked her as a bridge, a balance between the impetuosity of her race and the coolness of her station.

And of course, the eyes were the gate to your soul- _mate._ Everyone dreamt of the eyes of their to-be-partner. Nothing else, which she’d always found mildly frustrating. After all, dreaming of brown eyes? Green eyes? Wow, not like they weren’t common! May as well dream _you will fall in love with a PERSON_ for how non-specific it felt.

Not that she had dreamt all that much, admittedly. Not until recently, as she came of age. Another laughable concept - considering she was likely to be alive a _long_ time now.

She turned her mismatched gaze on her companions - her honour guard. Dark, overlapping folds of lamellar armour, myriad daggers sheathed across buckles and silver-tipped lances held upright. Their helms altered to allow their ears to protrude. Not like the unsightly domes the humans wore - all iron and ugliness. Magicats preferred more flexible approaches. After all, if you got hit _at all_ then you were pretty much done for. Better to go for something light, flexible and able to deflect a glancing blow.

For her own part, she'd gone for something more formal - she eschewed _dresses_ . Few of the women of Halfmoon thought them useful - they got in the way of one’s tail after all. Oh some wore them, for occasions, or ceremonies. But they left the billowing cloth to the _faeries_ or their human allies.

The thought made her adjust the bracers of her own more formal set of armour and she let a low growl rumble up from her throat. The hunger was creeping up on her again.

She’d fed a few hours prior, on one of the supplicant serfs in a village they’d passed through. The woman had been compensated with a bag of grain, to cover the loss of labour she would suffer, being left anaemic for a few days. But still, the hunger was strong. Likely the moon. It was such a weight upon all of their kind, but particularly those with her condition.

“You are impatient,” the voice was surly, a drawl. It only _just_ skirted being a sneer, “I thought I taught you better, Catra.”

Catra pursed her lips and flicked her wrist at a guard, who yanked on a thin iron chain clasped in his fist. There was a grunt of protest and a hiss of anger. Laughter rippled through the gathered guards and Catra turned a smirk to the figure between her and the guard. This one _wasn’t_ mounted. She had lost that privilege after attempting to kidnap Catra as a kitten. Lucky for her, Queen C’yra had an ironic sense of humour. Mildly less lucky for Catra, but there was also a lesson for the young Princess in this as well - learn from your enemies. Keep them close. Learn to _control_ them where you can.

“Why, Weaver, you talk as if I asked your opinion,” Catra drawled. She smirked at the rag-clad figure. Robes that may, once, have been red, but were now a faded scarlet. A cracked mask that revealed the scarring beneath, “But your ability to read the room is, as ever, utterly _fucking_ useless.”

Weaver. A once-trusted advisor. A mage of repute. And a consummate liar, manipulator and ambitious traitor.

She was, also, proud as anything and tended to severely underestimate her opponents. Such as Catra’s mother. Never try to cross a cat.

And never try to cross a _vampire_ cat.

The woman had tried to steal Catra when she was a mere four solstices old. And she’d paid dearly for it. First, with Catra scarring her face (Magicat Kittens were _far_ from defenceless; couple that with her _other_ nature and, well… the woman was _messed up_ ); then second when C’yra had practically apparated into the room and proceed to vent her rather substantial rage at the woman.

She’d spent the next few years in the dungeons, then had been made Catra’s _tutor_ when the girl turned nine. That had been a very interesting time - never left alone with the girl; but Catra had been expected to listen, to learn. But also to observe, to understand that Weaver would try to manipulate, convince and cajole her into actions; or attempt to be downright _abusive_ where she could.

Everything was a lesson. _Everything_. That was the truth of Halfmoon. The truth of the Magicats. And even more so in those who suffered the affliction of vampirism within their subterranean city.

After all, your civilisation didn’t survive without learning a few tricks.

“My lady, why have we brought this… thing with us?” the captain of her guard, Pan, muttered. He sat astride a black charger to her other side. She transferred her smirk to him.

“She’s versed in Horde tactics, even after all this time. And we can always use her as a distraction should the faeries attempt a double cross.”

The captain smirked, “Devious. Your mother would approve.”

“Oh I know,” Catra studied her claws, then rested her hands on the pommel of her saddle, “Plus she could do with the exercise.”

“Still, she is a sorceress…”

“A fairly useless one, without her gems and bound by runed iron,” Catra shrugged, “Do you doubt the capabilities of your men, should she break loose?”

Pan chuckled, “Hardly. I just might mess my mane is all.”

Catra cackled, “The amount of oil in there? More chance of it catching aflame.”

Another chuckled rippled along the line of soldiers. Weaver huffed and looked back up at Catra, “You forget my lessons, child. You are in the open, vulnerable, lax. You face an unknown foe.”

The soldiers fell silent and watched their princess. Catra frowned and looked down at the bound woman, then cocked her head, then shook it, “All so black and white with you, Weaver. No _nuance_ . Wheels within wheels, I know. We _could_ dig an entrenched position, but that’d rather defeat the _point_ of this whole parley, now, wouldn’t it?”

“My lady,” Pan leaned forward and gestured to the sky. He, like her, shared the affliction of Vampirism. Most who shared the noble blood of Halfmoon did, after all; the price paid to save their people. As such, his eyesight and senses were enhanced beyond the normal (already pretty exceptional) abilities of a magicat. She followed his gaze and pursed her lips.

“Show offs.”

The faerie contingent had arrived. They fluttered over the trees further along the beach, to descend to the pebbled surface a few hundred yards away. Catra rolled her eyes as a flash of pink light announced the arrival of _another_ faerie a moment later. Pan glanced sideways at her. But it was Weaver who spoke, surprise in her voice.

“They have their _princess_ here?”

“Why so shocked? I’m here,” Catra deadpanned.

“I meant to say…. Their princess is not as…. Hardened as you,” Catra leaned over her from her saddle and spoke with an amused lilt to her voice.

“Was… was that a _compliment_ Weaver? Wow, what _effort_ . You’ve clearly got an angle. Anyway that means the faeriesare serious about this, if Glitter’s here.”

“Glimmer,” deadpanned Pan. Catra waved a hand.

“Eh, I’ll get it right to her face.”

Weaver pushed herself up and huffed again, “You still cannot be sure this _isn’t_ a trap. They have sent their most potent magic user. Even if she is _not_ as experienced as you. And this third… faction.” 

Catra’s smirk shifted to a frown, “You almost sound like you _care_.”

“I care, Catra, because you or your mother will _kill_ me if I do not make a good showing. But having two of the heirs to the most powerful nations on the continent? This meeting is… a lot more dangerous. And, well, this other faction? How can we be sure? Catra, they are _reavers_. The faeries could have set this up to undermine you, to capture you, coerce Halfmoon to assist,” the woman’s voice is acid and it turned Catra’s frown back into a smirk.

“Your…. _Concern_ … is noted, Weaver. And maybe. But that’s _risky;_ we could kill their Princess, _take her,_ turn _her,”_ she waved a hand airily, “Anyway, that’s what _you’re_ here for. Be all… magically aware, spot if they’re pulling some weird stuff.” 

Weaver shifted and her ragged clothing rustled against the rocky beach, “I am hardly at my most _effective_ with these shackles.”

Catra shook her head, “That was a pretty lame attempt, by your standards. No, we just need you to keep an eye out.”

Weaver tilted her head back, showing some of the scars on her neck, “And, as ever… if I refuse?”

“Hot irons, the hole, the rack…. I mean we _could_ do that… but d’ya think the Brightmooners are going to be all nice to a former Horde necromancer? Nah, you could _try_ something. Hope they’ll be merciful. But we _know_ your history with them. So, yeah…. You’re gonna help. Again. And you’ll keep helping until we decide we can _finally_ cut you loose. So, play nice.”

Weaver’s teeth were almost audible as she ground them together. Fifteen years captivity, most of it with fairly _liberal_ freedom and she still groused. Well, she went about the place with a guard, shackled and with few freedoms, save when she was permitted to tend her garden. But still - she was at least _alive_. 

Catra turned her focus back on the troupe of faeries - all silver cloaks and silver armour and silver weapons. Frankly, it was a bit _dull_ . The metal wasn’t silver; wasn’t even really metal, just some materials that had the same consistency when _magic’d_ . Catra wasn’t all that familiar with the means - magicats had inherent magic, but few _mages_ . And as a vampire, her skills were yet _more_ innate. She’d never expressed a talent for wielding magic.

The honour guard, their gossamer wings concealed beneath their cloaks, took up station, facing the waves, lined up with the magicats. The Princess, however, strode over the gravelly beach, a solitary companion with her. Catra snorted as she saw the girl stumble on an awkward piece of rock.

“Dammit, moon curse this whole damn beach to fucking Sheol!”

“Wow, Glim, what would your mom think?” purred Catra. The diminutive figure paused and Catra could make out the girl’s glower in the darkness.

“Oh, great. It’s _you_.”

“Well _duh_ … I was gonna be all formal, guess you can’t extend the courtesy, Sparkles?” the magicat soldiers laughed, their horses shying slightly as Catra moved her own forwards, “Lord Bow,” Ctara’s tone shifted from sarcastic to actually pleasant, “Good to see you. How’s the arm?”

The second figure, a human, grinned in the dark. His dark skin was paradoxically luminescent in the moonlight, ethereal, “Princess Catra, glad to see you’re still as quick. And it’s healing well. My thanks for the salve.”

“Eh, don’t mention it. The druids are…. Good at that shit.”

“And she says I’ve got a mouth,” grumbled the faerie princess. She was relatively petite, curvy, with shimmering pink hair. Her companion draped an arm over her shoulder and squeezed.

“My love… we’re here for a _reason_.”

“Yes, do _tell_ why we should trust you,” came Weavers acid tones. She stepped forwards, but then staggered back as her attendant guard hauled on the chain. Glimmer’s expression darkened.

“Why is _that_ here?”

Catra sighed and shrugged, “Honestly? Insurance. And, y’know, bait. On the off chance you tried something, or these mysterious new allies of yours try something.”

Glimmer snorted, “Tsch, paranoid or what?”

“My entire civilisation lives under a mountain because your people sicked _giants_ on us.”

“That was two thousand years ago!”

“Yeah. My grandma was _there_ . So was _your mom_ ,” deadpanned Catra. Bow winced and looked between the pair.

“Um, speaking as the sole mortal rep here… I feel a bit left out!”

The two Princesses regarded him, then broke down into giggles. Catra shook her head and straightened in the saddle, then regarded Glimmer, “Alright. I guess I can admit I doubt _you_ would pull a trick like that, Glim. BUT your court is _full_ of people who might. We aren’t…. Popular.”

“DUH! Your people used _dark magic_ ….” Glimmer harrumphed, then sighed, “Sort of. And… I can’t exactly blame you. It was… a bad time.” 

“We are in worse ones now. Your little political spats are as nothing to the devouring Horde,” intoned Weaver. Bow looked between the women.

“Does she… need, like a thunderstorm or something? She sounds like she’s trying for ominous.”

“Honestly, I thought she’d stop doing that after a few years, but nope… apparently it’s a _thing_ for her,” drawled Catra. She studied her claws, then peered out into the mists. Next to her, Weaver stiffened. Glimmer turned as well, to look out to sea.

“No… no no no,” Weaver’s voice was a whimper now. She scrabbled her manacles, then turned and ran. Except the chain stopped her and she slid onto her ass, “They’ll _kill us all_.”

Catra stared at the witch, then looked at Glimmer sharply. The faerie looked perplexed. Her features were clear to Catra and she watched Bow’s face settle into an equally confused frown. She chewed her lip, then spoke. Behind her, she could feel her guard tensing up, “Glim, spill. All my mom got was that your people had been… contracting some mercenaries? Helping with the Horde on the Wastes boundaries?”

Glimmer nodded, “Yeah. They’re… they’re a bit strange. But they’re good fighters. Powerful. They’ve traded with the human Kingdoms a fair bit, in Salineas and the Nordland.”

“And… why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you want to get _us_ to meet them?”

Glimmer frowned and shook her head, “They wanted to meet _you_. Your people. I mean, you guys aren’t exactly… well known. They’re explorers, they say.”

Catra pointed lazily at Weaver, “Explorers that can break a Horde necromancer in a few seconds?”

Bow pursed his lips, “I’ll admit that’s… weird.”

Catra turned in the saddle and nodded to Pan, “Reel her back, get the horses to the tree line, far enough for a charge down the beach, just in case. Ready the archers.”

“By your command, Princess.”

She turned back to Glimmer who now looked unsure, “Traders? And mercenaries?”

“They… they wanted to offer their services they said.”

“Or it could be a trap for _me_ ,” mused Catra. Honestly, the prospect of a fight excited her a little. Horde minions weren’t much of a challenge, being shambling corpses, or strange, stitched together monsters. But they were no match for her boosted metabolism.

Glimmer shook her head, “They wanted to meet a representative… They don’t even know about…. What you _are_ . You mom sent _you_ ,” the faerie frowned, “Do… do you think maybe _she_ knows?”

“Does your mom?”

Glimmer shrugged, then gestured for her troops to fall back, “I’ve met… one of them. And she seemed pretty nice. I mean, not going to lie, terrifying. But…. weirdly enthusiastic.”

“This is you saying that, as well. I mean, you define _overshare_ to a level beyond, Sparkles,” growled Catra, but there wasn’t much bite to her words. Bow snorted. Glimmer shot him a look.

“If we weren’t married, I’d sock you one.”

Bow held his hands up, then unhooked the bow from his shoulder, “My love, don’t lie. You just want to damage my amazing face. Or have me sleep in the ante room.”

Glimmer huffed, then looked at Catra, “Trust me, Catra. Please?”

Catra studied Glimmer, then shrugged, “Duh. I mean you’re a _pain_. But… well,” they had history. Skirmishes, fighting, the usual spats between kingdoms with bad blood. But conflict brought diplomacy and they had an easy back and forth. At one stage, when they’d been younger, they had pondered the possibility of something else, but one afternoon of meeting and staring into each other's eyes had answered that - not the colours they saw. And the frisson had a charge that was more adversarial.

Also, Bow, as the Duke representing the human Coalition, and their ambassador in Brightmoon, had swept Glimmer away that same day. And it had come as a relief to Catra. She wasn’t sure why.

The slosh of water caught their attention, at odds to the waves. There was the creak of something in the mist, then a cry rang out from the sea:

“ _Vooooo…. Naaaaaa.”_

The voice echoed about. Then it came again.

_“Voooo… Naaaa.”_

Closer now. The voice was a bellow, but had a soft lilt to it. Catra’s ears twitched to hear it. Her tail lashed behind her and she felt the hairs on her arm rise. Strange.

A ship came into view, as if the mist formed _into_ it in the dark. The vessel pushed through the rolling tendrils, almost silent, the sculling oars slicing through waves with eerie precision. It was a shallow-hulled thing, with a prow shaped like some sort of beast. A single mast stood amidships. The trio watched as the vessel closed in towards shore. They heard the scrape of hull against stone as the vessel beached itself. It was still mostly in the water and Catra watched as the crew hauled their oars in.

A strange bunch - woollen-looking clothing, what looked like metal helms. The angle of the boat made them difficult to see as most were still hunched over their oars.

And then a figure swung off the back of the boat and splashed into the sea foam.

Catra was taken aback. The figure was tall, broad of shoulder, yet not _gargantuan_. They wore what looked like white cloth, bound at the waist with a bronze belt. A furred cloak was about their shoulders, the lining bunched about the figure’s neck. It looked like the hide of some great, red beast.

Catra watched as the figure waded towards the shore, cloak dragging in the waves behind them. Closer now, Catra realised it was a woman. Her hair was almost white in the light of the moon, done into a high ponytail. Her face was framed by a helm that looked more ornate than anything, similar to the stylised crown that Catra’s mother wore; which in itself was _strange_.

The woman’s armour was minimal - the white cloth seemed to be a tabard of sorts over a woolen tunic and white pants. Her arms were bare, save for a set of bracers; her legs had a set of bronzed greaves. As she drew nearer details became clearer and Catra noted the pommel of some great blade was visible, strapped to the woman’s back.

Catra’s horse whickered and stepped backwards; its feet pranced against the pebbles uncertainly.

The woman emerged from the surf and cocked her head, then tilted her head to grin towards Glimmer, “Your _majesty_.”

The words weren’t mocking, per se, but there was a hint of amusement to them. Glimmer snorted, “Yeah, right. You’re one to talk.”

Catra watched the woman carefully. She seemed at ease, no hostile air to her at all. As if she had not a care in the world. She tore her gaze from the strange figure and blinked. The ship's crew were arrayed on the beach _already_. Their clothing was likewise basic - what looked like some sort of padded armour, bracers and so forth. But they carried a variety of shields and axes, their helms a strange mixture of styles, most obscuring the faces. 

Her name drew her gaze back to the other three and she arched an eyebrow. Glimmer rolled her eyes, “As I was saying… this is Catra of Halfmoon.”

Ah. Glimmer hadn’t said she was a Princess. That was oddly considerate - letting Catra gauge things herself. She studied the woman and smirked, “A pleasure.”

The blonde regarded her and then flicked her eyes up to meet Catra’s.

The magicat’s breath caught. Her heart stuttered.

Blue eyes stared at her from her dreams. The blonde’s expression also seemed to twitch ever so faintly. Catra thought she saw the girl’s nose twitch. Much like Catra’s did when she caught a scent.

And the girl’s scent hit her like the bolt of a crossbow.

Salt, sea and body; planed wood; oils, weapon cleaning; a strange, musky smell, primal almost; a faint, lingering sense of _perfume_?

She blinked as she saw the blonde turn to fully face her. The woman _looked_ gigantic, but was probably only a foot or so taller than Catra. If that. But she had presence. The blonde smiled and it was, perhaps the most open expression Catra had _ever_ seen on a person.

“A pleasure, Catra. As these two have _clearly_ been remiss… I am Adora Moondaughter, Third of that name, of the Clan Grayskull. And we are at your service.”

Catra stared at the woman, then blinked again. Her words failed. Her mind was a mess of confused scents, half formed dreams. She felt _very_ off balance. But she was a Princess. A warrior. Unmatched in the games of court and the blade. With a roll of her shoulders, she straightened, and opened her mouth to speak.

“Hey, Adora…”


	2. Hearth and Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuance.
> 
> The strangers are good hosts.
> 
> And they know more than they let on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW // something approaching flirtation with blood.
> 
> And yes, have another chapter of this. I hope the continuation is WORTHY.

The strange sea-goers moved with a speed clearly practiced. Catra was impressed - her people had a port, hidden in a cavern. It was a thing of canals and managed waterways, the magicats not a sea-faring people as a rule.

The way these people had the boat hauled onto shore in mere moments  _ and _ had what looked like an effective guard in place already was astounding. The blonde hadn’t lost her grin and was clearly studying Catra, but she paused to turn to her crew and gestured to a broad man in a flat-topped helmet.

“Duncan! Secure the boat, and get the supplies offloaded,” then she looked back to Catra. Her gaze flicked to the woodline and her grin turned into a laugh, “And Catra, you may stand your honour guard down. We come with no axe in hand.”

Catra arched an eyebrow and her horse whickered again. That was very strange - it was very agitated. She pushed her heels into the beasts flank and twitched the reins once more, then looked at Adora, “Well, some waterlogged sailors staggering up the beach. It  _ could _ be an attempt to lull us into a false sense of security.”   


Adora still looked amused, “True. But what would be the goal? We come to talk. And I would like to dry my clothes a little. The trees, thick is the forest?”

Her manner of speaking was a little stilted, but the question seemed honest, “Not enough to stop horses.”   


“But good enough for firewood?”

“I… suppose,” Catra wasn’t exactly a camping  _ expert _ . She had soldiers and logisticians for that. Adora just nodded, then looked back to her people.

“Teela, take the men, fell logs. We prepare a pit!”

The crew all let out a strange  _ whoop _ and axes rattled on shields. Glimmer sighed and shook her head, then looked at Catra, “Great. Party time.”

Catra looked at the faerie, confused, “Uh… what?” she was wrongfooted. Adora planted her hands on her hips, which did amazing things for her whole profile.

“Never talk terms on an empty stomach. We’ve been eating salted fish and meat for days, a chance for drink and  _ roasted _ food…” Adora’s head tipped back, “So good! So, please. We will prepare the pit, then we can talk? Or do you wish for sun up?”

The way the question was phrased with an arched eyebrow and a half smirk sent warning bells through Catra’s head. Her eyes narrowed at the blonde warrior and she cocked her head, “You want to work fast. Surely you need to rest, recuperate?”

Adora shrugged, “Time is wasting, the moon is up and we are invigorated. Come, come, let us talk… but save the pressing concerns until our bellies are full, no?”

The faerie Princess sighed, “Better to just agree, Catra. She’s hungry. She doesn’t do anything until she’s been fed.” The faerie walked with Adora, the silver-clad Brightmoon troops heading along the same line towards the trees.   


“Hardly true!” scoffed the blonde, “I do some things.”

“Drinking does  _ not _ count.”

“It certainly does,” the blonde strode up the beach, whilst her crew hauled supplies off the ship - wood, barrels of food, a large cast-iron cauldron and what looked like bushels of arrows and rolled oils of weapons. Catra frowned, then realised Adora had passed her and was already halfway to the treeline.

The woman moved quickly, but was moving at an angle to the Halfmoon troops, not  _ at _ them - clearly not wishing to appear threatening.

Catra kicked her horse into a trot and headed for her lines. Pan met her and frowned at the newcomers, “Who are they?”

“Not a clue. They just look like vagabonds to me, but Glimmer has faith in them.”

Pan snorted, “They look barely put together. A single volley of our arrows, or a cavalry charge and they’d be done for.”

Catra chuckled, “Probably. Let’s humour them. It could be some great con that the Faeries have fallen for. And, well, I am  _ not _ missing that. Get the men to the camp, stand down save the sentries. And bring Weaver… I wanna see what they make of her, if she’s so jumpy around  _ them _ . Oh and take Stal back with you...” she patted her horses neck, then slid from its back.

Pan nodded, then gathered Catra’s reins and pushed his horse to a trot, barking commands to the line of archers and horsemen. The magicat troops melted back into the forest, to a small clump of tents a hundred yards into the treeline, barely visible. Her people were masters of camouflage and stealth, but the reality of any large troop movement, even only a couple of dozen soldiers, was still hard to completely obscure.

She headed after Glimmer, Bow and Adora on foot, easily catching up. The blonde had moved into the treeline and was now watching as the one called Teela and several others cleared a patch of smaller trees. Catra stared as the strange sea-folk hacked at trees with broad axes and felled them in short order. Teela made swift work at stripping away branches and then  _ split _ a log with her bare hands.

Catra was strong, stronger than a human, but a fresh log snapped like that?

There was definitely more to these people.

Glimmer shot her an excited smile and Catra folded her arms to watch while Bow chatted to Adora. The magicat turned one ear to listen in.

“So, um, how was the voyage? And your homeland?”

“At peace, finally. Adam is ruling now. He has earned the respite, though I know he is missing a certain  _ someone _ .”

Teela scoffed across the clearing, but Catra noted her blush. The red head paused as she hauled a log into place, then hefted it to stand on its end. Again, the  _ strength _ was impressive. Teela sent a glower at Adora then huffed, “Well one of us has to keep an eye on you!”

"I think you find me less interesting to watch than Adam..."

"He is less prone to staggering into chaos."

"And yet he picked you as his mate!"

Teela leaned back and laughed, "We are all entitled to fortuitous chance, are we not?"

Adora snorted and shook her head, but Bow cut in, “So, you have no war there? No… invasion?”

The blonde shrugged, “Conflict is everywhere. Clan wars, rites of succession. But we have no  _ invasion _ , no. We have… handled it. Just as we will handle yours. In time. Provided your friend who is listening in is amenable.”   


Catra blinked as Adora turned to grin at her. The magicat Princess arched an eyebrow and twitched her ear. Adora winked and Catra felt something flutter in her belly, then watched as the tall woman moved to help her people. 

That was surprising - she got stuck in, splitting logs, hauling logs and helping the others as they carried barrels and hide-tarpaulins up from the ship.

Slowly the camp came into form - a slightly dug out pit with a cone of logs arrayed in it, as tall as a man; that was then stuffed with kindling and smaller split wood. Around the clearing, three smaller firepits were set up, with kettles and cauldrons atop them, while log seats were set up around the main fire. The blonde uncorked a flask from her belt and poured it into the large, central bonfire, then fished out some grains of powder from another pouch, which she tossed in also.

Adora then turned to one of the older looking sailors and took a flint from the man, then faced the fire. She smiled at Catra, Glimmer and Bow, “Since we have no hall, this will have to do. You are welcome by our hearth. Let our fire warm you and keep the shadows at bay. Take salt and succour with us, leave your blades and banes at the threshold,”

And with that she struck the flint, which sent a spark into the pyre. It roared to life as the oil caught, then the powder popped and sparked white. The kindling baked and sputtered as sap boiled, whilst the cuts in the log bases blackened while the flames took hold. The heat washed off the pile like a wave and Catra shied back briefly.

The sea-folk all stood straight and tilted their heads back and let out a collective sigh, then mostly dispersed. It was strange, watching them suddenly go about their business, as if this was not some historic meeting. Adora closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, then reached up and pulled the scabbard and greatsword over her shoulder, to prop it against the log next to her. Then she unclasped the cloak at her throat and tossed it down over a log, then sat and gestured for the others to sit.

Catra stepped over the log adjacent to Adora’s, along with Glimmer and Bow. She noticed that all the other seafolk had paused as well and some had turned in the direction of her approaching guards. She noted the faeries appeared to be sticking to the edge of the woodline, just beyond the fire. That seemed smart - keep these strangers surrounded. Trust, but never too much.

The camp was silent, save for the clank of pots and the rustle of men and women unfurling their tarps and sheets - staves were set as tents were raised; others just unfurled mats onto the forest floor; a few simply strung twine between trees to setup little more than windbreaks. It all seemed haphazard.

Adora leaned back on her log and stretched her legs out. Catra couldn’t help but let her eyes drag over the woman as steam rose off Adora’s damp form. They weren’t that close to the fire, but the heat was like a physical pressure. Catra fidgeted and looked at Glimmer, then leaned closer, “What’s the deal?”

The faerie huffed, “They’re big on social stuff.”

“Who isn’t?”

“No, it’s… it’s kinda spiritual to them I think,” Glimmer frowned, “Hearth and home.”

The magicat chuckled, “That is pretty damn obvious. So, are we going to talk or… lounge?”

“As I said, we’ve been at sea for a while… a chance to dry off shouldn’t be missed. Not always fun being damp,” the blonde tilted her head and grinned at the trio on their log. She nodded and Catra turned. Teela approached from one of the other campfires with a leather flask which she proffered to Catra. The magicat frowned at the drink and sniffed it. Her nose wrinkled.

“What is this?”

Adora grinned, “Mead. Honey wine.”   


Catra shook her head, “Um… no, thank you.”

Teela glanced at Adora who seemed to be mulling something over. She leaned forwards, “Do you  _ drink _ , Catra?” Adora smiled knowingly at her.

The magicat frowned back, then smirked, “So, what, you were going to offer me some  _ fire water _ , see if I can take it?”

Adora shrugged, “Just wondered if you liked sweet or salt. We have mead. Or wine. I am unsure what Half-moon’s tastes are.”

The blue eyes fixed on her and Catra felt she was being studied. She decided to probe the inquiry.

“Well, I haven’t heard of  _ mead _ . Our tastes vary, you know. Just… as a rule we don’t do sweet.”

“Hm,” mused the blonde. She nodded at the campfires, “Will your people join us for food? Or are they amply provisioned? We have fish, fresh caught today. Or do you need something fresher?”

The chuckles from the other seafolk around the campfire had Catra’s hackles up suddenly. She shot Glimmer a frown, then looked back at the blonde, whose smile was still in place. And it looked honest and open. But Catra still felt a little on guard. These people seemed genuine and Adora was pleasant enough, but their casual, slightly hinting commentary was a little concerning.

“I had something earlier.”

Adora, frowned, but nodded and then sat up as one of the other sailors presented her with a slab of bread with a dripping hunk of meat. Glimmer winced but Bow hummed appreciatively as they received his own hunk of flesh. The blonde glanced up as she tore a strip of meat from the chunk in front of her and then popped it into her mouth.

She seemed to consider something, then placed her food down. She stood and walked over to Catra. She studied the magicat for a moment, then smiled and knelt in front of her. She patted the dagger at her belt and then arched an eyebrow at the magicat, as if asking for permission.

Catra felt curious. She knew if Adora wanted to try something, to harm her, she would hardly be so blatant.The woman ahd been up front and pretty direct so far.

But these were unknown people. Sea reavers. And surprisingly strong. She frowned, “What do you want?”

“In my homeland, to refuse hospitality is an insult.”

“We’re in  _ our _ homeland…”

“But in  _ my _ camp. Under my protection,” Adora shrugged, “Salt and bread.”

“Excuse me?” Catra’s frown shifted to one of puzzlement. She knew other places had customs around guests or how many days you could claim sanctuary. This was new.

“A sort of.. Oath,” supplied Glimmer, “Sharing a meal, even a basic one, shows respect.”

Adora gestured at Glimmer, “She gets it.”

“Well, um… I… I guess I accept then,” Catra frowned, “But, uh…. Your mead won’t taste like much to me.”

“We have wine. Or like I said… fresher? May I?”

Catra nodded warily. Adora smirked, then unsheathed her dagger. The magicat noticed that the other seafolk had paused and were watching. Except they were watching  _ Catra _ as much as Adora. She saw several had hands near weapons. Catra tensed herself and Adora paused.

The blonde turned her head and  _ growled _ .

Actually  _ growled _ .

It was a low sound and it sent a shiver through Catra’s bones into the pit of her stomach. Her magicat body felt terror and the  _ flight _ response. But her vampiric senses said something else.

_ Kin _ ?

The other seafolk paused, but stayed attentive. An older one coughed, then spoke up, “Adora…”

“ _ Duncan _ . We must show proper hospitality.”

And then Adora pricked the tip of her finger with the blade. She met Catra’s eyes, then proffered the tip of her finger. Adora wiped her blade on her pants then resheathed it, but didn’t break eye contact. She reached up and squeezed the finger and blood pooled for the small wound.

Catra stared at the woman and  _ knew _ that these people were far more aware of Halfmoon than anyone had realised. She swallowed as her eyes flickered around the clearing. All eyes were on her.

She could try to deny it, knock Adora’s hand away in disgust, try to mask it. But then again the surrounding villages would likely tell-all. Or at least  _ enough _ . The hamlets that were tithed to the city were aware, to a degree, of the nature of their masters.

The vampires of Halfmoon weren’t quite a secret; the location of their city (Or rather, the entrances) were. Their precise nature - how many magicats were afflicted, the nature of the curse and so on, all of that was myth and distraction, spread by the magicats themselves. Half of those rumours being intentionally exaggerated to make people actually scoff at the idea of  _ vampires _ at all. And, of course, with the Horde, association with dark magic was always an unpleasant reality. The magicats kept Halfmoon secret and the rumours vague to  _ protect _ themselves - to appear threatening, mysterious and inaccessible. And to ensure no one assumed they were part of the Horde.

So it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that these reavers knew of Halfmoon, its secrets. Beyond them being a secretive society, of course. Which could explain _why_ they'd sought them out. But this felt a bold assumption, nonetheless.

But the reality was that Catra  _ was _ still hungry. The blood of humans and magicats was sustaining but it was a constant hunger, a dull throb that was ever present. And Adora’s blood smelt of iron and salt and  _ so much _ .

Almost unconsciously Catra opened her mouth and her tongue flicked out. She intended to lick and settle back, but Adora pressed the finger to the flat of the magicat’s tongue. The taste assailed her and Catra blinked as Adora gently traced the finger across her coarse muscle, then pushed the finger into Catra’s mouth. The magicat blinked and sucked for a moment, then Adora withdrew the finger.

The taste was strange - like a human’s but  _ richer _ . It was earth, heady, suffused with something else.

And Catra felt the throb in herself dim  _ further _ . She almost sagged with a strange sense of relief. A purr rumbled through her and she gasped. Next to her, Glimmer sat, slack jawed. And Bow looked to have a strange mixture of shock and fascination on his features.

Adora stood and nodded with a smile, “We have eaten at the same table. Our hearth is yours this night and none shall raise blade or bow to you, our guests. Now, let’s get the mead flowing!”

The blonde turned and spread her arms, leaving Catra stunned and a little off balance. The seafolk returned to their tasks and Catra blinked in surprise when she suddenly found a platter of roasted fish set in front of her.

Whilst she drank blood, she could still  _ eat _ normally. It helped as it provided sustenance, but blood was required to keep her otherworldly abilities strong and her hunger at bay. And the fish smelled amazing. She blinked, and plucked a hunk of it free with her claws, then took a bite and groaned.

Her ears twitched as she heard the approach of her own contingent - Pan, Weaver and one or two other soldiers. Adora, moving about the fire, flicked her gaze over to them, even though they were  _ clearly _ a good few dozen yards away  _ and _ moving quietly.

The warrior had keen senses, it appeared. 

“You have a ghoul.”

The question was delivered with a drawl and a faint purse of Adora’s lips. Catra’s gaze took the blonde in and she noticed that that the woman’s expression was now more neutral, almost stony. Catra frowned back, suddenly unsure at this turn.

“A ghoul?”

The other seafarers also turned and Catra could hear the strange growl that came from several of their throats.

Pan crossed into the firelight, the two men behind him escorting Shadow Weaver between them. He looked at Catra and frowned, as he took in her expression, “My lady…?”

“Captain, join us. And… um… have some of the men come share the food with our… hosts.”

“Hosts, ma’am?” Pan’s gaze flicked to Adora and the gathered sea-folk, who were all spread across the clearing.

“It’s their campfire. Apparently," Catra rolled her eyes, still a little edgy. "Plus… this  _ fish _ …” Catra skewered a piece on her claw and brought it to her mouth, “It’s fresh.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he nodded to one of the men, who handed the chain to Pan, then headed back to the magicat tents. The Captain pulled the sorceress closer to the group and Adora stepped forwards and regarded the chains.

“A gift? You wish for us to kill it?”

Catra looked at her and laughed, “No… no, she’s a… tool. Sort of a useful thing to keep around.”   


Adora’s face twisted in confusion, “But why?”

“She can use magic. And, well… never waste a resource.”

The blonde turned her face to the sorceress and shrugged, then moved back to her seat. She unsheathed her dagger again and speared the hunk of meat, “Still think you should let me kill her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to hurt the thing,” drawled Duncan. He was a bulky fellow, with a bushy set of facial hair. His clothing was thick and made him look even broader. He settled on another log and regarded the bedraggled Weaver, “Hmm… this one’s a Necromancer, aye.”   


Adora snorted, “Hardly. Not like Keldor. This one seems… weak.”   


“Who’s Keldor?” asked Bow. The seafarers exchanged glances, then looked to Adora. She ate a little more, then placed her food in front of her, and leaned her elbows on her knees.

“No small question. But we have eaten. And we have yet to get  _ really _ in our cups so…” she grinned at the Brightmooners and magicats, “I suppose we better talk  _ arrangements _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye some more worldbuilding and slow burn.
> 
> Did ya LIKE THAT!

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot for now, to maybe lay the ground work for SOMETHING else. If I do, it'll be a quick three chapter one, because I don't think anyone wants ANOTHER live by the sword / Grace and Favour journey just yet ;)
> 
> Mostly, I had the idea for VAMPIRE CAT and VIKING ADORA (maybe something more...) and wanted to write out their first meeting.
> 
> Throw in some FATE. And well, here we are!


End file.
